


mirrors and dreams

by Ejunkiet



Series: scattered reflections [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: ALL the UST, Empathic mind sharing, F/M, Romance, Shared dreams and unnamed connections, Unresolved Sexual Tension, softness and touching. the running theme of most of my fics lately.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: After their first night together, she dreams of him.--I want you,she says, or tries to - what she says is in a language she barely recognises, let alone speaks -“Ma tahan sind”,and she can feel the rumble of the growl within his chest as he reacts to it, feel the prick of his claws as he pulls back, eyes dark and wild.
Relationships: Detective/Falk (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Falk/Female Detective
Series: scattered reflections [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875034
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	mirrors and dreams

**Author's Note:**

> While this _can_ work as a stand-alone, this fic is also set firmly within the 'verse of my previous Falk fic, "what do you want from a devil like me", and nicely leads on from chapter two. I recommended reading that story first!
> 
> This was written for the wonderful 'lilyoffandoms' on tumblr; the prompt will be included in the final author's note!

After their first night together, she dreams of him.

She’s long since removed the blanket from the mirror, although she's moved it so that the glass is angled away from the dresser and the bed, providing herself with a modicum of privacy - but she doesn’t remove the mirror entirely, and it’s a decision she takes care not to look at too closely.

The mirror remains empty and the charms she leaves hanging from the frame lie still and quiet, and she doesn’t think about it much, she doesn’t.

Still, she dreams of him.

Long hair like silk between her fingers, his touch cool against her skin as his hand traverses the line of her throat, entwining in her hair until he can tilt her head back, brushing his lips against the juncture of her jaw, soft kisses and gentle bites.

She can feel the curve of his smile against her throat as she shudders, his mouth trailing a burning path across her skin as his hands curl around her waist, pulling her in towards him, grip possessive.

In the dreams, his presence taunts her; his hands on her, claiming her, but his own form almost always out of reach. There but not _enough_ , and she yearns to touch him in the same way he touches her, aches to bridge the distance between them.

His lips press teasingly against the corner of her mouth, lingering there until she can’t stop herself from turning towards him, chasing his mouth - and then she wakes, panting in her room, alone.

She wonders if he dreams of her, too.

\--

After the first few nights, the intensity of the dreams increase. 

Some nights, it’s almost as if he’s actually there with her, the phantom flesh beneath her hands burning with the frenzied heat of him. He's everywhere and nowhere at once, hands and mouth moving across her until she just can no longer stand his absence and reaches for him - 

\- and it’s from those dreams she wakes up gasping, hands outstretched, grasping for a man who isn’t there, who never was, as much as her mind doesn’t want to believe it.

The next time the dream comes, she struggles to maintain a steady thought process, to talk to him as he starts to touch her, to take her apart (to _ask him to stay_ ).

 _I want you_ , she says, or tries to - what she says is in a language she barely recognises, let alone speaks - _“Ma tahan sind”_ , and she can feel the rumble of the growl within his chest as he reacts to it, feel the prick of his claws as he pulls back, eyes dark and wild in the twilight of the dream.

“ _Armatus_.” He reaches out his hand to touch her again, his hand cupping her face, and she turns her face into his palm, breathing in the cool, earthen scent of him. “You are irresistible.”

He kisses her then, and that’s when she feels it - feels the same swirl of colours, yellows, blues and greens - recognises the shape of his mind, the confusing whirlwind of emotions, of his lust and affection and _want -_

\- and then she can recognise him within the dream (and it’s not a dream, not really), and her hands reach for him, making contact for the first time since the dreams started, smoothing along his chest, his neck, twisting in his hair. 

She closes the gap between them, until they’re as close as they were that first night, bodies pressed tightly together, licking into his mouth until she can capture the sweet and bitter taste of him -

He breaks away from the kiss, his eyes flickering open, and the dark depths of them are startled as recognition flashes across his expression.

And then she wakes.

(She’s in her room, back in her cramped, dimly lit apartment. She is alone.)

Tearing back the blankets, she stares at her body. She can still feel phantom bruises on her skin where his hands had pressed into her sides, can see faint marks from where his nails had pricked her skin, although they fade quickly with the light, even as she watches. 

She scrambles up from the sheets, breathless and confused as she turns to face the empty mirror, sees the frazzled form of her reflection looking blankly back at her.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

She doesn’t sleep again, after that.

\--

The next time she dreams of him, something has changed. 

He’s there with her, as he always is, but he stands apart from her, beyond her. For the first time, she can make out some of the details of the room they’re standing in: rough hewn walls carved out of solid rock, stone floors; can feel the thick pile of the rug beneath her bare feet, her toes sinking into it. She can see an ornate wooden desk in the far corner, and can make out the shape of a bed lined with thick curtains behind him.

These are his private rooms, she realises, and - _of course_. They were always here.

He watches her as she takes in the room, his expression unreadable. His image is sharper than usual, more defined, and her mind is clearer than it has been the other times she has dreamed of this place.

"Emma."

His eyes are troubled as he addresses her, his words carefully chosen. He stands almost stiffly, his tone moderated with a formality she hasn’t heard from him in weeks, not since he’d started making regular visits to her apartment in the middle of the night.

There’s an aura of unease around him, even as he turns to face her fully, an uncertainty that’s at odds with his usual easy confidence.

“Falk,” she starts, taking a step towards him, but he raises his hand, asking her to wait. 

"This was not what I intended.” His gaze flickers between hers, searching for - something, that she can’t quite figure out. “I believed these dreams were just - mine.”

He hesitates then, and a flicker of regret passes across his features. “I should have realised earlier that that was not the case.”

This is the closest to an admission of guilt that she’s received from him, yet - she still doesn’t understand the cause of it. She’s still not sure if she understands this place, the shapes and edges of it fuzzy at the borders, undefined _._

“ _Falk_ ,” she tries again, and this time he doesn’t stop her when she approaches him, crossing the room until she’s standing in front of him. 

His eyes are dark as they glance over her, shadowed in the flickering light cast by the few candles scattered about the room. He’s fully dressed, she realises, while she’s wearing summer pajamas, her arms and thighs exposed, skin prickling with the cooler temperature.

"This will be the last time." He meets her gaze then, before his eyes flicker across her features, lingering on her eyes, her lips, before he takes a breath and glances away. "I will not visit you in this way again."

A flare of annoyance burns through her, and she closes the remaining distance between them. She places her hands against his chest, smoothing over the soft silk, the gentle curls of silver embroidery.

“And what about what I want?”

She still doesn’t understand the nature of this thing between them, but she knows enough to know to recognise that it is significant, and not something he can just - ignore. 

She can feel the quiver of his heartbeat beneath his tunic, catch the way his breath hitches as he glances back up to meet her gaze. He wants this - wants _her_ \- in the same way she’s wanted him ever since he’d left that night, a pale shadow in her bedroom - and she doesn’t want this- _whatever this is,_ to end the same way. 

She doesn’t want him to leave again _._

There are tears in her eyes, unbidden, unwanted. She can feel the heat of them against her cheeks as she swallows back the lump in her throat, and he reaches for her, hands gentle as he cups her face, thumbs brushing them away. 

He whispers her name again, soft and low, almost an apology. " _Emma_."

Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss against her temple, and she wakes. 

\--

She doesn’t dream of him again, after that.

The preparations for the relocation of the maa-alused continue, and after a few nights, as her memories of those shared moments begin to fade, she starts to believe that the dreams were exactly that: dreams, a strange fiction conjured by her imagination. Nothing more, nothing less.

When they next meet again, it’s in an official capacity. So much has changed since their last meeting - and yet nothing at all, not in the eyes of her mother and the other members of Unit Bravo, and so she buries it: her feelings and the memories of the night they shared together, her lingering questions about the strangeness of the dreams, all of it. 

She becomes who they expect her to be, the wayhaven human liaison, local representative of the Agency.

Still, there is a strange tension in the air when the leader of the maa-alused enters the room with his escort, a glimmer of something unreadable in his gaze as their eyes meet across the negotiation table, and deep within her chest, her heart aches for a connection she didn’t realise she’d had until she lost it.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was #52 of a dialogue prompt list: "You are absolutely irresistible" ;D
> 
> This story will be continued in chapter three of "devil like me", see you there!
> 
> \--
> 
> Kudos/Comments greatly appreciated! Find me on tumblr as Ejunkiet!


End file.
